


the elixir of royalty

by titaniaeli



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Can be read alone, Canon-Typical Violence, Conspiracy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Jiemma's A+ Parenting, Lyon is Bad at Feelings, Magic, Minor Original Character(s), Nobility, Other, Prompt Fic, Role Reversal, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, sorta an expansion/same verse as royal blue, written out of spite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniaeli/pseuds/titaniaeli
Summary: After a decade-long war, Sabertooth and Lamia Scale called for a ceasefire. To unite the two kingdoms, the Second Prince of Lamia Scale was sent to Sabertooth for an arranged marriage with their Crown Princess as part of the peace treaty.Prince Lyon was expecting an arrogant, sadistic warrior renown throughout nations as Sabertooth's strongest. Crown Princess Minerva thought that she had to suffer a pampered and self-righteous prince throughout her forced marriage.Both of them found neither.





	1. Chapter 1

The floating market was bustling with the common people and merchants from all over the world. It was near evening, with the sun setting over the horizon, and it seemed that the crowd was only just growing busier.

He adjusted the cowl over his silver hair and settled into one of the empty boats. Thankfully, the rower didn’t seem to recognize him, greeting him with a jovial smile and instructing him to hold on tight. Despite the warning, the boat only jostled once during the journey down the teeming river.

He purchased a few mangoes and papayas for Chelia, knowing that the young maidservant would enjoy them. As the evening crawled by and the sky grew darker, the river became quieter as the crowd thinned. The shops became shadier the further he was rowed down the river.

The boat came to a stop with a sudden jerk. He rose gracefully, tipping the rower with an extra silver coin in gratitude. Lowering his cowl, he got out of the boat, heading down a dark alleyway.

The little store he was searching for was tucked away in an alcove, touched with a mild hint of a forget-me-not spell to ward away soldiers from the kingdom. He ducked under the ratty curtains at the doorway. The only light was a hanging lantern with a small, flickering orange flame in the center, throwing shadows over the elderly woman behind the counter.

“Milady,” he greeted, keeping his vocabulary deliberately informal and his accent heavy. “Is my order ready?”

The Witch of the Brew squinted her milky eyes, looking up from her heavy tome. He tilted back his head slightly so the flickering light could shine over his features.

“Ah, Luca, you’re early.” She croaked. With a heavy groan, she slipped off the stool and disappeared to the backroom.

She soon came back, hobbling with a noticeable limp in her gait. She pulled out several empty glass vials from under the counter, unwrapping the sachets she has retrieved from the backroom. He watched in keen interest as she poured the powder into the glass vials, murmuring hoarsely under her breath as she spelled the potions. She filled the vials with a clear, sparkly liquid, and the combination turned the brew into a lovely pale ivory hue.

She swathed all six vials with a thin paper wrapping, looping the bag closed with a crimson string spelled only to release at his touch.

“I’ll send the rest of the money by tomorrow morning.” He slipped the bag into his cloak, inclining his head respectfully.

The Witch of the Brew snorted and waved him away, retreating back to her tome. He fled from her store swiftly, not wanting to spend any moment longer in her presence. Those milky eyes were always watching, as if knowing of his real identity.

By the time he made his way back to the palace, the sky was already turning orange, a few hours away from daybreak. He could feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, resolving to have a long hot bath before returning to his duties later. Maybe even beg Chelia for a revitalizing concoction to survive the rest of the day.

It served him right for spending his nights wandering the city instead of resting his body in his comfortable silk bed, but it’s the only time he could get away from the stifling walls of the castle and the heavy expectations upon his shoulders.

Chelia would not be happy with him, especially after he had tricked her again, but he preferred his nightly trips alone. Especially when he’s venturing into the shadier areas of his city.

Hopefully, the fruits would appease her. He would need her on his side if his grandmother ever finds out about his night-time escapades.

* * *

When Chelia entered his quarters in the morning, he was already up. He had barely slept in the last hour, his body still humming with energy from his night trip.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” She greeted, flinging open the curtains.

He stifled a tired groan as the sunlight poured in, dousing his quarters with light and heat. She glanced at his face, emotions filtering through her eyes before it settled on disapproval.

“Did you enjoy your trip to the city last night?” She said sarcastically, settling her hands on her hips.

He bowed his head in embarrassment, wondering if the exhaustion was plain on his face. Pretending not to know what she’s talking about would only annoyed her more. While a maidservant of low station, Chelia has grown to become a trusted friend.

“I just needed to pick up some potions I ordered last week.” He replied, sliding out of bed.

She let out an aggravated sigh as she collected his clothes from the wardrobe. He turned his back on her, feeling her nimble fingers slipping under his arms to take his night robe off.

“I told you to take me along when you’re heading out, since you insisted on escaping your Guards every time, Your Highness.” She muttered angrily. “What if someone saw your face and recognize you? You’re a Prince of the Royal Family! Even in the Capital, you must be cautious!”

She tugged the back of his coat lightly to get him to turn. He obliged quietly, turning around to meet her scorching stare.

“There’s talk of rebellion in the city because of the upcoming peace conference with Sabertooth.” She said urgently. “Some of the common people are not happy with this alliance after years of war. If those dissenters see you, they may attack you in an act of protest.”

The mention of Sabertooth soured his mood instantly. The Queen Dowager had called for a ceasefire recently, after a decade of fighting. Because of the war with Sabertooth, their economy was worsening. Their resources were pooled towards the army, and their treasury was slowly depleting. Many good men were lost, good men who he had called brothers. It was only after the ceasefire that trade merchants started to trickle into the Capital once more.

He couldn’t deny that a ceasefire was what Lamia Scale needed desperately right now. Despite his reluctance, he could see the sense in building up an alliance with Sabertooth. There were very few magically capable soldiers in Lamia Scale adept enough to combat Sabertooth warriors. Frankly, they were barely hanging by a thread in the war.

Unfortunately, there were many grieving families in Lamia Scale that does not share the same sentiment.

“It won’t come to that.” He said firmly.

There was a loud knock on the door that interrupted whatever that Chelia was planning to say. With a frustrated sigh, she finished his buckles and patted his shoulders.

The steward was waiting outside his quarters to escort him to breakfast. Impeccably dressed as usual, with not even a hair out of place, the steward looked more like a prince than he does. He was faintly aware of his messy hair, his dark eyebags, the tiredness weighing his limbs down.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Yuka greeted. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

Breakfast, yes. Breakfast with his grandmother and half-brother? Not really.

“I have some fruits on the table for you, Chelia.” He said.

Chelia frowned, pausing mid-action in gathering his bedsheets. She glanced at the table, and he watched her face lit up at the basket of mangoes and papayas. Smirking, he closed the door behind him.

“You spoiled her too much.” Yuka sighed. “Were you at the market last night?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” He answered. “I had those fruits sent to the palace.”

He spied Yuka’s disbelieving stare in his peripheral vision and fought not to give himself away. Unlike Chelia, Yuka was less likely to push.

“Have all the paperwork for this month’s revenues prepared and delivered to my study room.” He reminded. “I’ll take a look at them after breakfast.”

With that, he took a deep breath and entered the dining hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair, with Lyon humming noncommittally and Jura making small talk. Their grandmother was doing well enough handling the bulk of the conversation.

He doesn’t have much of an appetite these days and dealing with the Queen Dowager was trying even on the best of days.

He lowered his fork, washing down the toast and smoked ham with orange juice. He still has lots of work to do, and unfortunately, he required the permission of the Queen Dowager for most of them.

“Grandmother,” he said. “If we’re done with breakfast, I’d like to speak to you about reopening the old trade routes. I have received reports of the damaged lands occurred during the war, but I’d like to go on an inspection tour to find out how bad the damages are.”

“You can speak to your brother about this matter later.” Ooba dismissed.

He felt the familiar bite of frustration at being brushed aside. He kept his expression blank, inclining his head respectfully as he stood up to leave.

“Wait a moment, Lyon.” Jura called, placing down his teacup. “Grandmother, I believe we have something to discuss with Lyon.”

He paused in his tracks, feeling a trickle of dread at the look on Jura’s face.

Ooba pushed aside her plates and gestured for him to sit down. Cautiously, he sat back down, trying to hide how nervous he felt.

“You know about the upcoming peace conference next month with Sabertooth. Your brother will be heading to meet up with King Jiemma.” She stated.

“Please get straight to the point, Grandmother.” He said. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me about things I already know about.”

Ooba flared up at his impudence, her shoulders raising in irritation. This was why he hated being in her presence. He could never control his sharp tongue around her.

“Lyon,” Jura cleared his throat loudly, shooting a warning look at the both of them. “King Jiemma and I have been sending letters for the past week. We both agreed that the best way to make alliances is usually made with marriage.”

Lyon was not a stupid man. He understood what Jura was trying to tell him.

“I suggested that he send you to marry the Crown Princess Minerva.” Ooba interjected. “We can talk of peace treaties as much as we like, but the relationship between us and Sabertooth is tremulous. We have lost too much to each other and there will definitely be opposers during the conference. A marriage between two royals will keep King Jiemma from jeopardizing our alliance and breaking our ceasefire.”

It was a sound plan. The best logical reason to make. A marriage would tie the Crown Princess to Lamia Scale, and vice versa. But—there’s always a but.

“You make this decision without discussing with me first?” He asked, trying to keep calm.

Making the decision to marry him off to a strange princess in a strange land was just like the Queen Dowager Ooba that it wasn’t even surprising anymore.

“Lyon, we wanted to inform you of our plans before making the decision.” Jura said hurriedly. “But we didn’t want to give King Jiemma too much time to reconsider our attempts at peace.”

 _Plans._ They were even discussing plans behind his back.

“I am beholden to carry out my duty as second prince.” He replied, standing up abruptly. “If this is what Your Majesty commands me to do, I’ll not let you down.”

Ooba’s expression cracked slightly for the first time in this discussion. _If this was even a discussion._

He bowed with courtesy, even though he could feel the lick of fury building inside. Whatever he might feel, he’s still a prince. He’s not going to disgrace himself with a temper tantrum.

His brother will hold his coronation ceremony in three months, of course Ooba would send him away before he could do anything to endanger that. Not that he even desired to do anything of that sort.

Contrary to popular belief, he loved his older brother. They might have been borne of different mothers, but Jura was his blood. Despite his aloof exterior, Lyon held family dear to his heart.

Wiser, stronger, more talented in every other way; when it comes to magic, martial arts and even scholarly pursuits, Jura was always better. There was never a contest to the next King of Lamia Scale. Lyon learned this at a young age. Once he had grown used to the bitter taste of defeat and failure, he has accepted that his position as the ‘spare prince’ would never change.

Lyon’s mother was the former Countess of Hargeon before her death. She had been one of the Queen Dowager’s ladies-in-waiting before his father fell in love with her—or so the story goes. His mother was in her thirties when she gave birth to him, but the former King was probably old enough to be his grandfather by then.

Even though she was taken as second Queen, her reign was short-lived after the King’s death.

He was taken into the Royal family as a ‘spare’ and had kept his mother’s name. He was not even granted the privilege of the Neekis name.

He had planned for his future. After Jura’s coronation, he’d retreat back to his mother’s old home, focused on his duty as Count of Hargeon. Maybe start up a corporation of apothecaries across the country like he always wanted. Medicine available to the common people was scarce, and he wanted to change that for a long time.

He never expected his life to go the way he wanted as second prince but being used as a sacrifice was never in his agenda. His choices were not only snatched away from him, now he had to live in a country of people that had actively warred with his for a decade? Become prince consort to a princess renown for her cruelty? Or maybe he would be a Duke instead. At least it’s a step up from a Count.

The interior of the palace was suddenly constricting. He could hear his heartbeats beating away in his chest, like a frenetic hare galloping around the inside of his body.

He needed to get out of this place.

* * *

The King was furious, his rage making the entire throne room shake. Minerva was smart enough to dismiss herself from her father’s presence, escaping before his rage could make itself known on her.

Jiemma was not happy that Queen Dowager Ooba had offered up the second prince instead of her esteemed heir. He felt that she was looking down on his daughter. It was a thoughtful sentiment, if Minerva was not aware of the fact that Jiemma was angrier about the slight to _him_.

Jiemma possessed an ego large enough to crush Lamia Scale on its own.

Minerva was not happy that the decision was being made without her consent, but she could honestly care less about her prospective husband. No matter what, she’d be Queen of this nation. As long as her husband gives her heirs, she does not care about his station.

Jiemma believed the act was an insult to Sabertooth. He was utterly convinced that Ooba was simply seizing the opportunity of this peace conference to toss her unwanted spare prince away. She could get an alliance strengthened by a marriage and avoided any inheritance issues by sending a rival prince away. If that was the case, then Minerva has to congratulate the old Queen Dowager for her scheming.

She has heard plenty—and yet nothing of the second prince. Lyon Vastia was the half brother of Jura Neekis. The ‘spare prince’. A notorious loner who preferred to stay out of the limelight, refusing to attend galas or get involved with courtly affairs.

All these tells her nothing of her future husband.

But she has met Jura Neekis in the last meeting. The man looked old enough to be her father. He was as stupidly noble and righteous as she had expected. But she could admire Prince Jura’s tenacity and modesty. He was careful with politics, but much too honest. If he had grown up in Sabertooth, he’d be eaten alive.

As virtuous as he was, he wasn’t a man Minerva could see herself marrying. Not that she has any choice in her marriage anymore.

“Minerva-sama!” Yukino slumped in relief when she spotted her. “Is His Majesty raging again?”

Her expression was telling enough that the other woman did not question her further.

“What happened?” Yukino asked.

She glanced out of a window and felt a pinch of relief when she spotted Sting and Rogue hiding from the scorching sun under a tree. Her loyal sworn knights were never far from her, and despite her capability in protecting herself, she does not feel safe around her father without them around.

“Come,” She commanded. “I’ll tell everyone together.”


	3. Chapter 3

On the day of his departure, the entire palace was in chaos. Lyon stayed away from everyone, isolated in his room until the day he had to leave Lamia Scale.

...Or that’s what he wanted everyone to think. If the servants could not tell the difference between a clone and his actual body, then it’s not his fault.

Unfortunately, most servants avoided being assigned to the taciturn prince, which meant that his personal attendants consisted of his closest friends. Which also meant that none of them would fall for his ruse.

Which was why they have tracked him all the way down to the slums, where he had disguised himself in his Luca persona, visiting the children of a nearby church.

 _“Your Highness,”_ Sherry hissed, hands on her hips.

It was frightening how similar both cousins looked whenever they are annoyed.

“Lyon-sama!” Toby wailed, lunging forward to paw at him. “If you wanted to visit the city, you should have called me! Am I not your coachman? Have I disappointed you?”

He tried to dislodge the distraught man clinging to his front, grimacing in annoyance.

“I’m visiting the city _discreetly_.” He snapped, trying to rip Toby’s hands off his cloak. “If I come riding into the slums in a carriage, that’s defeating my whole purpose!”

“Why didn’t you bring me along?!” Chelia demanded, coming over with a toddler in her arms. The church caretaker, Lira, was following behind the younger girl with two children in each hand.

Luckily, his servants were out of their uniforms.

“Luca-san, I’m so sorry for troubling you!” The young lady bowed. “Are... Are these your friends?”

She stared at a blubbering Toby attached to his front in unconcealed bewilderment. He stifled the urge to hide his face and pretended that he does not know these idiots.

“Unfortunately.” He muttered, finally managing to pry Toby’s hands off and kick him aside.

Lira giggled in amusement.

“Alright, children, we’re heading back to the church now!” She clapped her hands loudly. “Hatsu-san should be done with breakfast!”

“We’ll help.” Yuka interjected politely. Before Lira could object, he helped to gather the rest of the children, ushering them off with the others.

“How is the budget for the church?” He asked, stopping next to Lira.

“Oh, we had an anonymous benefactor who donated a large sum of money last week.” Lira brightened up. “It’s really fortunate as our coffers are running low. We purchased new beddings and sheets and repaired the leaking pipes. There’s still leftovers to procure some toys for these orphans.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled.

“I really want to thank you as well, Luca-san. You must be a busy man. For you to take time off every weekend to help out at the church…” Lira beamed, her eyes softening.

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s time to go back, Luca.” Yuka interrupted, inclining his head respectfully.

Lira jumped in surprise, bringing her hands up to her chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I won’t take up your time any longer then!” She cried. She quickly ran after the children, shooing the last of them into the church.

“Have you prepared the monthly stipend?” He questioned, watching the churchyard emptied of children.

“An entire year’s worth.” Yuka answered. “I have set aside an account for the church and a transcript for the outgoing stipend every month. Prince Jura will take over the finances once he ascends to the throne. I’m sure he’ll take care of these children.”

It wasn’t like he was being selfless, for doing such a thing behind his grandmother’s back. These were orphans of the war, children who have lost their families. Like what he told Lira, it’s the least he could do for them.

“Alright,” he closed his eyes. “Let’s head back to the palace.”

* * *

“You look wonderful, Your Highness.” Chelia smiled, stepping back to study her masterpiece. “Really handsome.”

She had dressed him in a slim-fitting eastern-style ensemble with a mandarin collar, in a soft royal blue cloth threaded in silver that popped against his rose fair skin. His silver hair was combed to one side, a long earring of mother of pearl stone swinging gently beside his chin. He absently ran his hands down the silky fabric, brushing against the crystal beading on his attire.

“If only making the Crown Princess swoon into my arms will win us the rest of the war.” He said dryly.

“The notorious _War Empress_? Swooning?” Chelia snorted, raising a sardonic brow at him. “If only wars and politics can be won by fluttering your eyes at your enemies.”

The door creaked open, and Yuka stuck his head in.

“If you’re done with dolling up the prince, Chelia,” He said drily. “The Queen Dowager has summoned His Highness to the throne room.” He made to retreat, then paused, “You look good, Lyon.”

The door closed behind the steward.

He rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly to glance at the full-length mirror. He looked like a peace offering all wrapped up for King Jiemma’s daughter.

“We’ll be waiting for you outside.” Chelia murmured, touching his arm briefly.

The walk to the throne room was almost nostalgic. He had walked down this white hall countless times in the past; his footsteps imprinted in the floor, his hands impressed against the walls like a memory. This might be his last walk through this hall.

“Grandmother, I’m here.” He announced.

Ooba was not on her throne but pacing back and forth at the base of the steps. Her gait was not urgent, so he wasn’t worried. The guards have been dismissed, which left only the both of them in the throne room.

“You wish to speak to me?” He asked.

“As you’re aware, Jura will be accompanying you to Sabertooth. He’s there to finalize the peace treaty and to make sure everything up till the wedding day itself proceeds smoothly.” Ooba said. “We have not set a date yet, and that is Jura’s job to settle on a date for the wedding with King Jiemma and make sure that he does not tries to back out of our agreement.”

He bit back the urge to tell her to _get it over with._ Ooba has a tendency to talk circles around you, and while Lyon was normally patient and well-versed with the intricacies of politics, he’s not indulgent enough to deal with such indirect talk with people he’s familiar with.

“Jiemma certainly has an ulterior motive, and I cannot figure out what the man is scheming.” Ooba said sharply, her shoulders raising. “You have to watch your back in Sabertooth.”

He knew very well that he’s walking straight into the den of tigers. His closest allies would be out of his reach in Sabertooth, and his every movement would be watched. But vipers have venom of their own. They might be small, but one bite could end a human’s life instantly.

It’s not Lyon that Ooba was worried about.

“I want you to find out what Jiemma is planning.” Ooba instructed. “If he tries to threaten this peace conference in any way, you will inform me.”  

“So not only will I be married off to the sole heir of Sabertooth, you want me to spy on them too?” He said tersely. He was not expecting kind words from his grandmother, but for her to treat their farewell in such a clinical and cold manner only worsened his mood.

“You have been fighting this war since you were fifteen. You understand the sort of man Jiemma is.” Ooba replied. “That man is a war hawk, hungry for expansion across the world. He wants to consume more lands and steals more resources for his country, do you think he’ll stop so easily now?”

He bit his lip, feeling the indents of his nails in his palms. Because of his fate, he was getting emotional about everything. He needed a clear head right now.

Once he’s thinking clearly, he could understand Ooba’s concerns.

“Your brother is an honest man. He’ll be a virtuous and splendid King of Lamia Scale.” Ooba said, her brows furrowing. He detected the slight warmness in her tone, the effortless shift in her demeanour whenever it comes to Jura. He ignored the pang in his heart and willed the bitterness away. “For all of Jura’s strengths, politics and cunning are not his strongest points. He’ll walk into the peace conference thinking the best of everyone at Sabertooth. Your job is to make sure your brother walks out of Sabertooth safely without compromising your position and Lamia Scale.”

He remained silent. He has always been a dutiful grandson, playing the perfect ‘spare prince’. This marriage might be a farce, but it’s just another role he has to play.

Protecting the future King of Lamia Scale... Protecting his elder brother... At least in this, both he and Ooba could cooperate without argument.

“Your Majesty, the carriage for Prince Lyon is ready.” A servant spoke carefully at the doorway.

With a suppressed sigh, Lyon gathered up his cloak, tossing it around his shoulders.

“Lyon...” Ooba started, then paused, searching for words. She settled for an impersonal, “Do your country proud.”

_What was he expecting?_

He bowed out of the throne room, leaving his grandmother behind. He watched her ascended the steps, running her fingers over the throne. She cut a lonely figure at the top, her stooped figure beside that tacky velvet throne. Good riddance, he has never wanted that ugly chair anyway. Maybe with him gone from Lamia Scale, Ooba would stop worrying too much about an improbable civil war.


	4. Chapter 4

He could hear the commotion even from inside the palace gates. Outside, the common people have gathered to send off their princes. The soldiers were all in their positions, to prevent any dissenters from interrupting their departure and to stop the crowd from going into a riot.

Jura met him at the entrance, smiling widely. He was handsomely dressed in warm shades of browns that paired nicely against his tanned skin. Standing side by side, they were like the sun and moon. Even their personalities were a dichotomy.

It’s no surprise that no one believed they were blood-related.

“Are you not bringing any knights?” Jura asked. There was no malice in his voice, only genuine curiosity, so he decided to assure his brother’s worry, glancing back at his attendants standing by the carriage.

Chelia, his personal maidservant. Toby, the only coachman he trusted. Sherry, his personal cook. Yuka, his steward in charge of the entire team.

And they were all trying not to look like they were eavesdropping on their conversation. Completely unsubtle.

“They are the only protection I need.” He said simply.

He pretended not to notice their blushes and preening, heading straight to the carriage. He opened the door, ignoring Toby’s squawk and pulled himself into the carriage.

They kept the windows partially opened as they rode out of the city. The people need to see their princes leaving. He bestowed them a half-hearted wave before they vanished out of sight.

“Are you nervous?” Jura asked, settling down opposite him.

He slammed his window shut.

“Do I look like I’m nervous?” He said bluntly.

Jura leaned back in amusement, more than used to his straightforward speech.

“I can never tell what you’re feeling half of the time, Lyon.” He laughed. “I am presuming that even someone as unflappable as yourself would be nervous to marry Minerva Orland.”

Something in his expression must have shown his agitation, because the smile slid straight off Jura’s face.

“Lyon... I haven’t apologized to you yet.” He said remorsefully. “I should have discussed this issue with you first, but Grandmother sent the letter before I could.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Oniisama.” Lyon said quietly. “We all have to make sacrifices in war. I should be grateful that I’m being sent off to marry instead of an execution.”

“This is a sacrifice I’m not willing to pay.” Jura said softly.

The deadly chill in his brother’s voice was even colder than his magic, sending a shiver down his back. He widened his eyes in surprise, not quite sure how to respond.

“Once I become King, I’ll find a way to bring you home.” Jura promised.

“Even if you have to defy Grandmother?” He asked.

Jura was always accommodating to their grandmother’s selfishness, allowing most of her thoughtless demands to slide. He preferred to defer to Ooba, mindful of her seniority and status. She might be old, but she’s still Queen Dowager.

“You’re my little brother.” Jura said simply.

There’s an itch at the back of his throat, building into an unbearable sting. He swallowed down the lump of ball that suddenly choked his voice.

“Not that little anymore.” He whispered.

Jura chuckled, the warm sound washing away his anxiety like an ocean wave.

“Obviously not.” A grin broke across Jura’s face. “It has been many years since I needed to change your diapers.”

Blushing hard, Lyon tossed a ball of ice at his head.

* * *

“You’re fidgeting, Princess.” Yukino muttered. Her lady-in-waiting inched closer, an arm brushing against hers in comfort.

She couldn’t help but desperately grasp onto Yukino’s warmth greedily. Instead of being in the front with her father and the rest of the welcoming committee, she was ordered to stay away, placed with her knights in a corner.

Obviously, this _infuriated_ her. If she has to put up with this sham of a marriage, does she not deserve to meet her future husband face to face?

The dot in the distance was growing larger as the horses trotted up the gates.

“I wonder if he’s like Prince Jura.” Sting said, a little too loudly, judging from the disapproving stares they were getting around them. “Man, that guy is _strong_ , but he’s a stick in the mud. Can you imagine our princess being married to such a dull guy?”

“Sting!” Yukino scowled fiercely. She was too far away to hit him, but Rogue had already rammed an elbow into the blonde’s rib. “Thanks, Rogue.”

“I’m sure that our princess will be able to build a successful rapport with Prince Lyon.” Rogue said diplomatically.

Minerva does not want to build a rapport of any sort. She does not want a husband. She does not want to marry _at all_. Her father was definitely cooking up some nefarious scheme to sabotage this peace conference and take over Lamia Scale. This marriage was a... a complete travesty!

The carriage slowed to a stop. Sting struggled to look over her shoulder.

Out of everyone, she was perhaps the only one to understand her father best. Jiemma was clearly hoping for her to marry Prince Jura instead, using the wedding to take down Lamia Scale’s next King and conquer the country in one swoop. In the end, she was just a tool for him to use. 

Lamia Scale was a land of resources, and Jiemma has been hungering to take over the other nation for years.

She has to _stop_ this wedding.

Jura stepped out of the carriage first. Despite herself, she leaned forward in curiosity so she could get a better look at her prospective husband.

The first thing she noticed was the silver hair. She had actually thought that it was a shade of platinum blond burnished from the sunlight, but it was a completely pale silver colour when she took a second look.

Prince Lyon was also much younger than she expected.

Everyone in Sabertooth knew about the age gap between the two brothers, as the former King took another wife many years after the death of his first Queen, but Prince Lyon barely looked any older than her.

“He’s very pretty to look at.” Sting whistled. “At least you don’t have to put up with an ugly face during your bedding.”

This time, Minerva slammed her heel down on top of his foot. She felt a burst of satisfaction as he let out a muffled yowl behind her. Rogue sighed in exasperation.

She turned her attention back to Prince Lyon. He was standing two steps behind his elder brother as King Jiemma greeted them, his expressionless face—a very _pretty_ face, she conceded—an empty canvas. As if feeling her eyes on him, he suddenly looked up. From this distance, she could not make out the colour of his eyes, but they met her gaze so unexpectedly that she startled.

By the time she regained her composure, he had already looked away.

“Your Highness?” Yukino whispered, nudging her gently. “It’s time to move.”

The two princes were following King Jiemma into the palace, and Prince Lyon was lost amongst the procession behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Lyon was led into a grandiose-looking room at the end of a long day. The ceiling was almost sky-high, the massive four-poster bed curtained by flowy sheets.

Everything in this kingdom was grandiose. This might be the first time he stepped into the palace of Sabertooth Royalty, but he received the first impression of a thriving country, despite the war. That or Jiemma was keeping all the richness to himself.

He collapsed onto the chaise, his eyes drooping shut from exhaustion. Meeting King Jiemma was a struggle of his composure and nerves. He never expected the King to be a monster of a man; he’s even taller and larger than Jura, with sharp, pitiless eyes. It’s a hard truth to digest; that this man standing before him had agreed to a peace conference willingly. Perhaps Ooba was on to something when she insisted that King Jiemma had an ulterior motive.

Throughout the whole dinner, he had to resist picking up his fork and stabbing Jiemma in the eye. He didn’t even get to meet his so-called future wife.

He let his mind wandered to the woman he had spotted amidst the crowd. She was clearly highborn but separated from the rest of the nobles. She had knights surrounding her, but only kept two particularly close. There was another woman standing beside her—frankly, the one that caught his eye first, because of the pale blue hair that looked white from a distance. The latter also bore a stately bearing, but humbled, more mellow.

He only had a split-second look at the taller dark-haired woman and could sense the sheer power and bearing from that haughty stance. He wondered if that’s the Crown Princess, and if that’s so, why King Jiemma had kept his daughter away.

He supposed he would get his answers tomorrow.

The curtains fluttered, a slight breeze entering through the opened window. He opened his eyes drowsily, not realizing how relaxed his body was. He must be more tired than he thought. A figure appeared, perched on the window sill.

“Welcome back.” He murmured.

Chelia’s eyes glittered under her pink bangs. She hopped in, patting at her skirt absently.  
  
“What did you find?” He questioned.

“The security around the palace is very tight. I nearly got caught on my way back.” Chelia reported, folding her arms across her chest. An ugly sneer twisted her expression. “Your hypothesis was right. There are many slums across the city; the people are starving and homeless, and their King sits upon the wealth of this nation. The exterior is just a front to the darkness beneath.”

“For a man who started this war in the first place, is it any surprise that he possessed an inflated sense of superiority?” He snorted, unsurprised. Sabertooth was starving while their King hoarded all the wealth to himself.

“Go to bed, Chelia. You’re sharing the same room with Sherry.” He said. “I trust you’re able to find your way there without alerting the guards.”

“Your clothes, Your Highness...” She protested.

He cut her off with a wave, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her towards the window.

“I can undress myself.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Get some rest. It has been a long day for all of us.”

With a grumbled sigh, she agreed and vanished from his room. He shut the window behind her, exhaling loudly. He stared at the empty room, the almost eerie silence and foreignness.

Life didn't go as planned, and he’s floating on a piece of wood in the middle of an ocean, desperately searching for land. There’s tigers at all sides, and the only ones he could trust were his attendants. As much as he trusted and loved Jura, he wasn’t sure how his brother might react if he confided in him.

Jura was so optimistic for peace, despite being in the thick of war himself for several years. He was a brilliant man, but he’s too honest and honourable. They were not bad traits; its time Lamia Scale has a King like Jura to lead her. Slinking in the background, leaping into the shadows and dirtying his hands was _his_ role.

He’ll find out what Jiemma is plotting before the wedding and protect his elder brother.

* * *

_"What are you doing?”_ Yukino hissed like a cat. Sting was doing a really pitiful attempt at hiding behind a wall to peek at her as she waited outside Prince Lyon Vastia’s quarters.

“Sorry, Yukino,” Rogue appeared behind the blonde. “He wanted to see the second prince.”

He grabbed the back of Sting’s uniform, trying to drag him off. Sting dug his heels in, refusing to move.

“You can see him later, you moron!” Rogue whisper-shouted. However, Sting has physical strength on his side and barely budged.

The door opened before Yukino could speak up. She exchanged a look of panic with Rogue.

Prince Lyon paused at seeing her directly outside his door. He didn’t look terribly surprised, so he must have known she was outside.

“Your—Your Highness!” She quickly bowed in respect, shooting a sharp glare at Sting.

Luckily, he still has some manners left and followed her example, body straightening and bowing stiffly. Rogue’s bow was much more natural, his dark hair falling into his face as he leaned forward with a fist to his chest.

“I am Yukino Aguria, the Crown Princess’s lady-in-waiting. I was ordered to escort you to breakfast to meet Her Highness and His Majesty.” She said, regaining her composure. She took a few quick seconds to study the prince unashamedly.

He was of average height, and not as intimidating as his elder brother with his slighter physique, but he held himself with a sort of quiet confidence that told her that he’s not a man to be messed with just because of his unassuming appearance. He did not bore much resemblance to Prince Jura at all. He must have taken after the deceased Queen Reia Vastia instead.

Every lock of his hair was pale silver, his skin smooth and fair and so soft-looking Yukino had to control her urges to touch his cheek. Up close, his eyes were dark, like two pools of spilled ink, framed with pale lashes.

“May I have the honour of being introduced to your companions?” He smiled, his gaze flitting towards the two knights behind her.

_Oh, she’s going to throttle them._

“Of course, Prince Lyon.” She fixed on a false smile as she turned to said _companions_. “Sirs Sting Eucliffe and Rogue Cheney are Princess Minerva’s sworn knights.” Her smile faded slightly as she subtly looked around. “I... Pardon my nosiness, Your Highness, but I noticed the lack of knights in your retinue yesterday. If you do not mind, I can suggest to the princess to assign some trusted knights in your protection. There...” She didn’t want to frighten the prince on his second day in Sabertooth so quickly, but she felt guilty of hiding such important matters from him, especially since this marriage was arranged with neither party’s consent. “There were some small uprisings from the commoners before you arrived, and your safety is of utmost importance to Her Highness.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lady Yukino, but unnecessary.” Lyon replied. Friendly, but firm. “I have all the protection I needed.”

She frowned but did not try to dissuade him further. He was not Minerva, who was willing to listen to her advices, but she still felt a little uneasy that Prince Lyon does not have any knights with him.

“Understood, Your Highness, but if you ever change your mind...” She trailed off.

He looked amused and decided to compromise. “I understand your worry, Lady Yukino. I’ll speak further with you on this subject if I do not feel safe, is that alright?”

Relief flashed across her expression.

He didn’t want to tell her that he does not feel safe in Sabertooth. Maybe he never would, not as long as he does not hold all the cards.

On their way to the dining hall, they were joined by Yuka and Chelia, who fall easily into step with him. The two attendants received curious looks from Yukino, but she did not say anything regarding their casual contact with the second prince.

He was met with a set of ornate double doors at the end of a corridor filled with paintings. A pair of tiger statues were mounted on both sides, their lean bodies arched upwards with their claws out, their eyes gems of topaz shined to perfection.

He barely held back his scowl of disgust.

The guard announced his presence, and with his heart steeled, he walked right in.


	6. Chapter 6

In the center of the dining hall was a long table that could seat at least a hundred guests. At the head of the table was King Jiemma, and on his right, the dark-haired woman that he had seen yesterday.

Her hooded gaze watched him steadily without blinking, reminding him of a hunting cat.

“You’re early, Prince Lyon!” Jiemma called. “Come, please sit.”

 _I endeavour to impress my future father-in-law_ , he thought uncharitably. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from blurting out something irreversible.

Jura was still not present, forcing him to sit down with Sabertooth Royalty, an awkward tension hanging over their heads. Yukino went to stand quietly behind the Crown Princess, while the two knights vanished silently. Yuka and Chelia were both immovable statuses behind him, keeping their expressions so bland that they looked like carved marble.

“You have not met my beloved daughter yet, have you?” King Jiemma said, gesturing at the woman beside him. “Your future wife, Crown Princess Minerva.”

“It’s a pleasure.” The Crown Princess said softly, inclining her head proudly. She’s beautiful in an utterly intimidating way, befitting the War Empress she was renowned for. He felt _small_ under her sharp, calculating gaze, but he’s far too prideful to squirm under her scrutiny.

“Your reputation far precedes you, Princess Minerva.” He plastered on his best political smile, intensely aware of King Jiemma’s gaze.

Minerva smiled, slow and keen. “I hope they are good things. I am far more than aware of my reputation in the other kingdoms, Prince Lyon.”

_King Jiemma’s loyal enforcer. Cruel and merciless. A heart as cold as ice. The General of Sabertooth Army, responsible for the slaughter of most of his men._

“Only the best of your famed reputation. Some of them are so fantastical that you sound almost like a myth.” He answered. “I have heard of your magical and martial prowess, your tactical skills and... a great beauty that could topple empires.”

Minerva’s eyes widened slightly, just a second, so quick that he thought he had imagined her surprise.

Jiemma roared with laughter, breaking their eye contact.

“It seems that the both of you are off to a good start.” He rumbled in approval. “I have high hopes in the two of you establishing a tight rapport between our kingdoms. It’s the beginning of a new era, a time to usher in the new generation!”

Minerva’s smile grew fixed.

Luckily, the doors opened before anyone could commit regicide. His elder brother was announced, and the latter walked in, and the tension bended under his warm, unyielding smile.

“Prince Jura,” Jiemma’s attention shifted away from them. “What a pleasant morning!”

The tightness loosened in Lyon’s chest. Without King Jiemma’s piercing, menacing stare, it’s far easier to breathe without feeling like there’s a knife positioned at the back of his neck.

As if he could feel the tension, Jura managed to steer most of the conversations towards himself. Even King Jiemma’s manipulations couldn’t shake the sheer nobility of Prince Jura’s honour. Of course, there’s not much politicking going on, just the standard power play between two monarchs.

Fortunately, such tactics rarely worked on Jura. He’s too straightforward for any power play attempts. He’s also not an easy man to frighten or intimidate. With his strong, solid build and powerful aura, there’s not much that could make a man like him tremble.

Lyon, on the other hand, was frequently underestimated. It used to annoy him, but he had learned to turn it into a strength instead. It surprised him quite often how people tended to run their mouths around you if they think you’re a weak, powerless prince.

By the time breakfast ended, his jaw muscles ached. That’s why he hated entertaining.

It took all his willpower not to look too eager when King Jiemma finally lowered his utensils.

“King Jiemma and I will confer with each other regarding the wedding.” Jura said, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “Perhaps you may like to accompany Princess Minerva in the meantime?”

Lyon smiled politely and agreed.

He rounded the table and offered his hand. There was a long pause as she stared at his gloved hand as if it was dirt beneath her boots. He tried not to let it affect him too much. With an almost imperious sniff, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up.

Her fingers were long and slender, but there were scars on her hand, ridged and pink on her palm. He didn’t let his eyes lingered. He’s more civil than that.

Their knights and attendants followed at a safe distance, out of hearing range. He could see Sting and Yukino flanking Chelia, trying to pull her into a conversation. The latter did not look harassed, and Yuka was more than capable of interfering if Chelia feels uncomfortable, so Lyon decided to focus his attention on the Crown Princess beside him instead.

“I heard you’re interested in the academics, Prince Lyon.” Surprisingly, Minerva was the one who initiated a conversation before he could say anything.

“I... I am.” He replied, trying not to look too astonished. He has carefully cultivated a reputation of being a misanthropic loner who preferred to seclude himself in the library during his youth, an excuse created while he’s off gallivanting across the battlefields with Jura.

He’s shocked that such inconsequential rumours about him have made its way to her ears, especially when he did not have any military victories—or any that she might have heard about.

“Shall I interest you with a full tour of our Royal library?” Minerva asked.

_Well._

“I’ll be honoured by your company, Princess Minerva.” He replied.

* * *

Prince Lyon was... an enigma. She still cannot decide how she feels about him. She suspected that whatever she had just seen during breakfast was just a shade of his true self.

He has a slick tongue at least.

Sabertooth possessed an enormous library, filled with shelves and shelves of books. She was never a studious person, unlike Yukino, who spent most of her free time in the library. She preferred to dedicate her time to training, out in the field with her knights practicing her magic.

That’s not to say that she’s all brawn. As heir apparent, she was swarmed with tutors trying to teach her the necessities of a Queen. Jiemma was of an opinion that she only needed more strength to conquer other nations, but she did not want to be a ruler like him.

She wanted to be a fair Queen, who solved matters with a steady heart and firm justice instead of executing everyone who stand in her way.

She has never seen anyone with such a fervent light in their eyes when they stepped into the library before. Even Yukino, who loved reading and enjoyed learning, did not carry such... _hungry_ gleam in their eyes.

Prince Lyon seemed to devour everything with his searching gaze. There was an endless thirst for knowledge brimming in those dark eyes. She could almost taste the excitement trembling in his limbs.

It was... a little endearing.

“You can peruse any books in the library.” She said. “If you wish to borrow any books, please inform Lady Yukino or the royal librarian, Rufus.”

A slim young man with long blond hair and wearing an obnoxiously tasteless crimson hat standing behind her bowed respectfully.

“I am at your service, Prince Lyon.” Rufus said.

He was not ignorant enough to underestimate the other man, even if he’s the royal librarian. There’s power in that deep green eyes, magic reminiscent of a slender, sturdy spear thrumming over his skin.

“I am grateful for your kind hospitality, Princess Minerva.” He said sincerely.

Once again, a strange expression flickered across her face, as if she has never been thanked before. It piqued his interest, and he wondered if there’s some warmth behind that icy exterior. She has been nothing but gracious towards him, but he could feel a wall between them. Her gaze stung him sharper than his own ice magic.

He wondered if this was going to disturb his investigation on King Jiemma. Of course, it’d be so much easier if Minerva wasn’t involved in her father’s scheme, and while he should be more than understanding regarding preconceived prejudices and rumours, Minerva’s infamy was legendary.

Think of Sabertooth, and the first thing that comes to mind is Minerva Orland.

“It’s nothing.” She said with a distant smile.

“It seems like my brother and your father has some obvious worry that we’ll not be able to get along. I wish to pacify their concerns, so I hope that you will join me for lunch later, Princess Minerva.” He continued. He’s not sure about King Jiemma anyway, but Jura’s completely _unsubtle_ nudge was too obvious.

He felt a small pinch of victory at the look of surprise on her face. Her lip twitched, and she looked hesitant. He was willing to wait for her to make her decision, but it was evident that she’d agree to his invitation.

Both of them have no choice but to play this farce.

“I’ll have my knights fetch you at noon.” She finally said. With a graceful curtsy, she left the library with Yukino and her two knights.

“What do you think of the prince?” She asked after several minutes. “Or that maid of his?”

It didn’t escape her notice that the pink-haired maidservant was sticking pretty closely to Prince Lyon.

“I can’t get a read on him.” Yukino answered thoughtfully. “He’s almost as hard to read as you. But that maid of his... I can tell that Chelia-san is very devoted to him.”

“She definitely is good at keeping her master’s secrets.” Rogue murmured.

That was high praise coming from Rogue. Sting and Yukino were pretty much an expert at extracting information from their unsuspecting targets. Sting would distract with his natural amiability and good humour. He has a very nice smile—Yukino’s words—that makes people lower their guard down around him, while Yukino would then approach and gently draw out information. After all, who would ever suspect Yukino of deceit?

“She’s very smart. I don’t think she’s any ordinary maid that Prince Lyon chooses to keep close.” Sting agreed. “And she’s not even pressured or nervous that two knights were talking to her.”

Even in Sabertooth, the knights seldom interacted with the palace’s servants. Since most of the knights were nobles granted a knighthood, they were unaccustomed with servants.

The mystery of Prince Lyon was just getting more baffling.


	7. Chapter 7

The books in Sabertooth Royal library was _wondrous_. Of course, the rare and special books were inaccessible, even if he’s the future Queen’s _‘husband’._ Still, he wondered if he could sneak a few out and _forgot_ to return.

If the Royal librarian, Rufus, doesn’t murder him for it, Sherry just might if she finds out he stole books from the Royal library like a common thief.

He ran his fingers across the mahogany wood shelving, a thick volume cradled in one arm. The shelves were well taken care of, dusted and polished till they shone like new. Every book was organized by alphabetized order, from genre, subject and publication year.

 _A perfectionist control freak_ , he thought. No harm. The world could do with a little more of such people.

A gold-gilded hardcover book caught his eyes. The spine looked slightly tattered, but he could feel the low hum of magic tugging at his attention. He reached up, fingers catching the bottom of the book. He deliberated over waving the enchanted ladder to his side or give up his pursue. He doesn’t have much time left before his lunch appointment with the Crown Princess.

As if sensing his torment, a hand reached up over his head and gently pulled out the book that had caught his interest. He tensed up in surprise, having not heard the other man sneaking up on him.

“Is this the book you wanted?” The massive man standing behind him asked. He has a head of wild, spiky light green hair, and he was... shirtless, displaying cords of tight muscles and arms thick enough to crush his skull with one squeeze.

“I... Yes, thank you.” He said, dumbfounded. His first instinct was to back away, put some space between them—the man was standing a little too close for his personal comfort—but his back bumped lightly against the bookshelf. There was nowhere else to go, unless he ducked around the man’s huge body.

He slowly took the book from the man, sliding his glove off with his teeth to lay his palm on the hard cover. ‘The Alchemy of Herbalism’ was a premier publication on herbology and pharmaceutical science. It’s part of a collection of three volumes, and this was the most basic. The other books delved into some of the darker stuffs; poisons and toxicology and antidotes, which he was more interested in. They were banned in multiple cities, but he has his sources, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get his hands on the last two volumes.  

“Honestly, stop looming over the prince like a buffoon and introduce yourself, Orga!” Rufus stomped towards their direction. He immediately bowed in apology when he stopped in front of them. “I apologize for his ill manners, Your Highness. Orga does not usually interact much with the Court. He is one of Princess Minerva’s sworn knights.”

“I am Orga Nanagear, Your Highness.” The massive man said gruffly.

Lyon thought that he seemed more socially awkward than intimidating, despite his size.

“I am sent to escort you to lunch with the princess.” Orga continued.

He glanced at the clock in surprise. Time had passed pretty quickly while he’s buried in these books.

“May I borrow this book?” He asked Rufus.

Rufus ran a clinical gaze over the book cover, his sharp gaze pausing on Lyon’s bare hand for a moment before he looked up.

“Excellent choice, Prince Lyon.” He smiled. “You may return whenever.”

He was a little curious that there’s no forms to fill to loan a book from the Royal library. In Lamia Scale, the library was much smaller, but the few books they have were precious and valuable. Anyone wishing to take the book out of the library had to go through certain procedures. But Rufus had assured him that ‘everything is in his head’, tipping his hat with an almost smug smirk.

Yuka was waiting outside the library when he exited, Orga following behind him like a silent shadow.

“Please take this book back to my quarters.” He requested. He doesn’t want any food or beverage mishap to happen while he’s holding onto it.

Yuka raised a suspicious bushy brow at Orga. He brushed his fingers over Yuka’s knuckles to affirm that the knight was safe as he handed the book over for safekeeping.

“I’ll see you after lunch.” Yuka tucked the volume under his arm as he strode away.

Orga was an awkward conversationalist, tending to go off topic or quoted random song lyrics that he does not recognize. Minerva surely surrounded herself with many strange people.

Perhaps they were not that different after all.

* * *

Minerva was waiting at a veranda overlooking the palace’s prized garden. Only Sting and Rogue were present to guard her.

“Hey, Prince Lyon!” The blonde waved energetically.

Mortified by his rudeness, Rogue punched him in the back.

“I apologize for his impertinence, Prince Lyon!” Rogue said hysterically, seizing the back of Sting’s blond head and pushing it down roughly.

Amused, Lyon waved Rogue’s apology aside. The man must have a rough time dealing with his partner’s carefree personality all the time.

“The princess is waiting.” Orga coughed.

He looked up to see Minerva standing at the other end of the veranda. She was looking out at the garden, her gaze distant.

Leaving the three knights, Lyon went.

“I didn’t make you wait too long, did I?” He said mildly.

Minerva’s head jerked up in surprise. She looked almost embarrassed to be caught unaware.

“No, you’re just in time. Yukino just brought out the tea.” Minerva said slowly. “Shall we?”

She gestured at the beautifully set up table beside her. Without waiting for a reply, she swept her long gown aside and sat down. He stifled his huff of amusement. Even dressed in a riding skirt, her dark hair swept up from her shoulders, she was impeccable and regal. Other than a faint sheen of sweat on her skin that makes her complexion glowed, not a hair was out of place. He wondered how he looked to her; he’s sure there’s ink smeared against his cheek, which he had unsuccessfully tried to rub off.

“Is black tea alright?” She asked, picking up the porcelain teapot.

“It’s fine.” He said, sitting down opposite her.

He studied her look of concentration as she poured out tea into two dainty-looking teacups. The birds twittered in the background, a light breeze cooling him down.

“It seems that my father and Prince Jura have just finished their... discussion.” Minerva said, her expression barely hiding a displeased scowl. “I’ve heard that they have settled a date, which your brother will relay to you later.”

He sipped into the tea to delay his reaction. Minerva does not seem interested in further explaining as she settled into a menacing gloom, so he deduced that she must have heard the news by way of gossip instead of directly from King Jiemma.

“I am excited for our wedding.” He answered, his teacup making a sharp clink as he set it down abruptly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he wondered if he sounded too flat. Should he have said it a little more excitedly? She didn’t look particularly happy to be marrying him in the first place anyway.  

The approaching footsteps broke his reverie.

“Your Highnesses,” Yukino greeted, balancing a tray in her hand. “I heard that Lamia Scale is famous for their seafood. I had the chefs prepared spiced swordfish to satisfy your appetite, Prince Lyon.”

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise as she set down two plates of spiced swordfish in front of them.

Lamia Scale was home to many ports, living near the ocean. Their business in the seafood industry was what kept them afloat during the war.

“I hope you can enjoy your lunch, Prince Lyon.” Minerva said blandly. “You must be missing home.”

“It was Minerva-sama’s suggestion to import some seafood over.” Yukino winked. “They might not be from Lamia Scale, but the chefs have done their best in ensuring it tastes as authentic as possible.”

“Lady Yukino,” Minerva coughed loudly, a sharp glare chasing the giggling lady-in-waiting away.

He was stunned to see the faint pink blush on her cheeks, the annoyance twisting her lips downward. It was more emotion than he had ever seen from her.

The fish looked properly fried at least. He picked up a fork and knife and cut a piece. The cinnamon taste was a little strong, but it’s good.

“It’s good.” He complimented.

Minerva smiled, her expression relaxing. It made her looked her age, soft lines at the corners of her eyes, her thin crimson lips a gentle arch across her cheeks.   

Yukino brought a bottle of crisp dry rose wine which flattered the salty swordfish. He didn’t finish his meal, placing his fork down and glancing in pity at the leftover.

“Is it not to your taste, Prince Lyon?” Minerva asked.

“No, it’s excellent.” He said, washing the fish down with the wine. “I just never have a hearty appetite.”

Fortunately, Minerva was not offended. She merely nodded in understanding.

The fish was truly excellent, but he might be embellishing a little when it came to his appetite. He’s afraid that the Crown Princess might jump to her own conclusion if he speaks frankly.

“The weather looks good today.” He commented, giving her a practiced sweet smile. If she’s surprised, she was more composed than when they were talking about their wedding. “Let’s take a walk through the garden. I hear Sabertooth has some... interesting plants.”

“Are you interested in botany, Prince Lyon?” She queried, raising a brow curiously.

“I... dabbled.” He said in amusement.

Minerva looked slightly doubtful but did not object to his request. Something struck her as odd, although she couldn’t place a finger on it on what exactly make her uneasy.

It wasn’t only until she’s walking back to her room after lunch that she realized that it hadn’t been a request, but a command wrapped in a guise of one. How many times have she used that tone herself when speaking to her squad in the Royal army?

She laughed incredulously, startling her knights. She ignored Sting and Rogue’s confused stares, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Did the so-called powerless antisocial prince actually _ordered_ her to take a walk through the garden with him in her own kingdom? She’d actually be offended if Lyon’s gall hadn’t actually make her more intrigued.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have finally succeeded in deposing a tyrant 'ruler' from my workplace, I thought I should celebrate by posting up a new chapter!

Saying that lunch with his betrothed was exhausting might be an exaggeration, but there’s no denying that it strained at his very social quota of the day.

“Did it go well?” Chelia asked, reaching out to divest him of his coat.

He raised a brow at the excitement in her voice.

“As well as expected.” He said carefully.

The girl deflated in disappointment, giving him a look that he could not identified.

“I guess it’s expected of a prince that has never even been in a relationship before, huh.” She muttered under her breath.

“What—” He spluttered in indignation, glaring at her retreating back. “I don’t have time for a relationship!”

Chelia glanced at him over her shoulder, her lips pulled in a sympathizing frown. Before he could be riled up by her patronizing look, a loud knock on his door cut him off. Ignoring Chelia's protest, he went to open the door.

“Lyon-sama!” Chelia hissed in irritation. “I told you to let me get the door!”

“Relax,” he sighed. “It’s only Sherry and Toby.”

He might not be the best sensor in Lamia Scale, but he has completely familiarized with his attendants’ magical auras. Anyone who wished to impersonate his attendants and sneak up on him would be greatly disappointed.

“How’s the lunch date with Princess Minerva?” Sherry set down the silver tray of food on the table before turning an eager gaze towards him.

“Fine.” He said sharply. Why was everyone so curious about his lunch with Minerva?

He dug into the bread pudding and lapsang souchong. The spiced swordfish had been a little too rich for his palate, and he has never really fancied wine anyway. Besides, he was not inclined to touch food that wasn’t cooked by Sherry.

“I have been scouring the city since this morning.” Toby said, his legs folded under his body on the bed. He was munching on a chocolate bar, oblivious to Chelia's distasteful stare at the crumbs littering the bed. “Delegates from the other nations are slowly entering Sabertooth.”

“Anyone we know in particular?” He questioned.

“I saw Quatro Cerberus and Grimoire Heart banners.” Toby answered. “Some other lesser Houses from Sabertooth and their neighbouring territories... I’m sure the other nations will soon be coming once the wedding invitations are sent out.”

“Still,” Sherry murmured. “King Jiemma sure moves fast, doesn’t he?”

A knock briefly interrupted their conversation. This time, Chelia gave him a blistering stare when he tried to get up. She opened the door to allow Yuka in.

“How was lunch with the Crown Princess, Your Highness?” Yuka asked.

He groaned in vexation, deciding to ignore the steward’s innocent query. Yuka looked befuddled by his response, glancing around the room at the women. His face pinched further in confusion as Chelia and Sherry giggled loudly.

“Any chances of Fairy Tail being invited?” Chelia asked enthusiastically. She was hoping to see Fairy Tail’s genius physician Wendy Marvell. They have been exchanging letters since the younger girl’s last visit to Lamia Scale, and Chelia wouldn’t be averse to seeing Wendy again.

“Very unlikely.” He frowned. “King Jiemma _despises_ King Makarov. If Sabertooth hadn’t been warring with us these few years, King Jiemma might have already turn his sight on Fairy Tail.”

“Fairy Tail’s military force and firepower is probably the only one out there strong enough to combat Sabertooth.” Yuka commented. “Who do you think will win between them, Lyon?”

“Hard to say...” He said contemplatively. “Fairy Tail is full of freaks.”

Sherry snorted in an unladylike manner.

“I believe that the only one strong enough to fight Princess Minerva is the Titania Knight Erza Scarlet.” He continued. “And while I have never seen the Twin Dragons of Sabertooth on the battlefield before... I heard that the only ones capable of pulling them to a draw are Knight Natsu Dragneel and Captain Gajeel Redfox. It will be interesting, if those two nations ever head to war against each other.”

“I hope not.” Sherry raised a brow at him. “I think this world needs lesser wars at the moment.”

“There will always be conflicts between nations.” He shrugged. That’s why he’d never be King of Lamia Scale. He’s too much of a fatalist; whatever is meant to happen will happen. “Conflicts beget more conflicts. At least if Sabertooth turns their attention to Fairy Tail, Lamia Scale has more time to retreat and gather ourselves for an attack.”

“Spoken like a true tactician.” Yuka sighed in amusement.

Sherry shook her head in despair.  

There’s a loud tapping from the direction of his window. Everyone went silent instantly, their muscles tensing up with anticipation.

Lyon stood up and headed to the window, brushing the curtains aside. There’s a bird waiting patiently outside his window, pecking the glass insistently. He slid open the window, reaching out with a hand. The bird hopped onto his palm, crumbling into soil. Between the soil was a crumpled piece of paper, smoking slightly with a faint hint of Jura’s magic.

“I have been summoned.” He sighed, freezing paper and soil and shattering them into nonexistence.

He’s not looking forward to whatever Jura is going to say.

* * *

The wedding is set in two weeks.

So much time, yet so little time too. Just thinking about his upcoming wedding make his blood pressure goes up. Even the beauty of the rose garden and the gentle trickle of water from the fountain could not calm him down. The conversation with Jura had tested his patience and already fraying nerves.

He closed his eyes, felt the faint residue of magic lingering on the surface of his skin and brought it forth. Just a tiny amount, enough to shape his ice into a small magpie. It fluttered off his palm, circling around his head with its dainty wings, before settling down on his shoulder.

There was a low impressed whistle, startling the magpie into flight. He opened his eyes, glancing up to see the Twin Dragons approaching.

“You’re an ice mage, Prince Lyon?” Rogue questioned, his red eyes glinting with curiosity.

His companion was not so reserved, bouncing up to him with an excited gleam.

“You’re an ice mage?” Sting almost shouted. “Are you the Black Viper of Lamia Scale? General Jura’s lieutenant and right-hand, an incredible ice mage who had held against the Siege of Margaret? Damn, I didn’t get the chance to fight against him, but I saw the aftermath of our army!”

His expression remained unmoved. He gave the blonde a small, polite smile of disinterest.

“There are many ice mages in Lamia Scale, Sir Sting.” He replied. “I am not the Black Viper.”

He lifted his hand, calling for the magpie to land on his knuckles. The bird cocked its head at the two knights, and as beautifully carved and lifelike it was, it was not real. It was as silent as a ghost, a glacial art of beauty.

“I can only conjure up such frivolous tricks.” He murmured.

Sting watched in disappointment as the magpie was disintegrated in Lyon’s hand. He has a feeling that Rogue was not so easily swayed by his deception. Those dark red eyes narrowed thoughtfully at him, but Rogue did not say anything.

He glanced at the ice shards and curled his fingers in, beating back the voice of his grandmother, sharp and detached in her mockery— _What use is your power if you cannot protect your own people?_ These scarred hands were the only things he could protect with his own power.

Maybe this was all he amounted to: a war’s offering.


	9. Chapter 9

The envoys from Blue Pegasus were the first to arrive after the wedding invitations were sent out. They came with their usual flair and fanfare, arriving like the wind as they blew everyone aside with their sheer absurdity. Lyon felt the beginning of a headache at the sight of the four men.

Blue Pegasus was a nation that specialized in textile trade, and while Ooba had never completely finalized the trade agreement between both kingdoms, the Trimen have visited Lamia Scale quite often to sell their goods.

“You’re far more beautiful than the rumours say, Your Highness.” Ichiya complimented, taking Minerva’s hand and kissing her knuckles. “Magnificent! Your parfum is simply divine!”

Minerva politely pulled her hand out of his grip.

“You’ll be the loveliest bride at your wedding, Princess Minerva.” Hibiki said suavely. “I cannot wait to see you walk down the aisle in our kingdom’s wedding gown.”

“We provide the best textile only for the most beautiful and charming bride.” Eve agreed. “And you are definitely the most beautiful I have ever lay eyes on.”

Hm, he hadn’t known that, but he supposed it’s to be expected for a man like King Jiemma to only have the best wedding gown made for his daughter. And Blue Pegasus was _the_ best.

“Your Highness, even gemstones are incomparable to the beauty of your eyes.” Ren said in his usual awkward manner.

Sting and Rogue were watching the spectacle in awe, as if they were at a circus show.

Lyon almost felt embarrassed for Minerva. Until Ichiya turned his attention on him.

“Lord Ichiya,” he said hastily, interrupting whatever senseless drivel that the other man was going to say. “It has been a long journey. You should really freshen up with a hot bath.”

“Prince Lyon is right.” Minerva interjected, smiling politely. Her eyes looked wild, and Lyon could _smell_ the desperation off her. “I’ll have the servants prepare the bath for all of you now. Please do not hesitate to take your time, Lord Ichiya.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, Your Highnesses!” Ichiya cried.

Yukino coughed in amusement, whisking all four men away to their quarters.

The moment they were gone, Minerva’s shoulders went slack as relief trickled into her expression. He turned away to hide a smile.

“I have never met Lord Ichiya and his men before.” She said. “Are they always this... enthusiastic?”

“They are an acquired taste.” He commented. When she glanced at his face, he forcefully stifled his smile. It wouldn’t be good if she thinks he’s mocking her by laughing, right?

“I’ll be finalizing the guestlist to present to Father.” Minerva said abruptly. “Would you join me at my study later?”

“I’m sorry, I do not want to presume, but... guestlist?” He said carefully, raising a brow. “I was under the impression that the guestlist has already been decided by King Jiemma. Especially with all these kingdoms arriving for the wedding.”

“It is. Or was.” Minerva grimaced. “Quatro Cerberus and Grimoire Heart are our allies for many decades. My father wishes to build a good rapport with the rest of the world. As you must have already deduced, our wedding will be the pivotal moment in garnering allies from the other countries.”

“A perfect strategy of gaining peace, right?” He said, smiling humourlessly.

She gave him a sharp look, but his poker face was like an unbending mountain, and she cannot read him at all.

“I’ll head back to my quarters to prepare.” He said, slipping on his diplomatic smile. “I’ll see you at your study later, Princess Minerva.”

* * *

Minerva sank into the scathing water with a loud moan. She rubbed her aching legs with the soapy foam, the rose fragrance relaxing her muscles. She lay her head against Yukino’s thigh as the younger woman poured a generous amount of hot water over her hair.

With her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her flowing skirt replaced with breeches folded up till her knees, Yukino’s bare legs were submerged into the water as she dedicatedly washed Minerva’s hair.

“So, what do you think of the second prince?” Minerva asked idly.

Rufus tilted the brim of his huge hat, pulling it down to shadow his eyes. His handsome features were half-lit by the still morning sunlight. He was sitting on the chaise by the balcony, enjoying the slight breeze with a cup of hot green tea. The rest of her knights were lazing around the enormous bath pool.

“Not what I expected.” Yukino hummed. “But he seems a polite, gracious and respectful man. Also,” here, her voice took on a teasing timbre that instantly made her wary. “He’s really nice to look at, isn’t he?”

“ _Nice_.” Sting snorted, waggling his brows suggestively. “What a way to put it, Yukino.” He leaned forwards, pouting. “But I’m better-looking, right?”

“Sting will be jealous if you tell him no.” Rogue translated, not even looking up from his book.

The blonde flushed and lunged at the other knight. The latter easily dodged, holding Sting back with a foot in the face.

“I’m not asking about his looks.” Minerva said in annoyance, rolling her eyes. She’s perfectly capable of judging her future husband’s attractiveness. That does not mean she has to titter and swoon like one of those flighty noblewomen that flocked around the palace on one of her father’s obnoxiously glamourous parties, hoping to snatch up a wealthy husband.

She wanted useful information. Information that will give her more insight to the inscrutable prince. All she has on him were baseless rumours with no supported evidence, and the more time she spent with him, the more she realized Lyon Vastia was vastly different from the rumours she has heard.

“He’s an ice mage.” Sting said suddenly, clapping his hands in an ‘aha’ motion.

“He already said that he’s not the Black Viper.” Rogue said neutrally, flipping a page.

She turned slightly, the water rippling from her movement. The foam parted slightly in the water, rose petals floating across the surface.

As if there’s a switch, the name ‘Black Viper’ certainly shifted the switch button to ‘on’ for everyone. There’s no one in Sabertooth who has not heard of Black Viper, the ruthless and shrewd lieutenant who had followed Prince Jura Neekis all the way to hell and back on the battlefield. It was the sheer might of Prince Jura and the cunning of his right-hand that had successfully kept Sabertooth at a stalemate for three years. He vanished from the battlefield two years ago. Some said he died, some said he retired from the war. The stories have spun him into a legend.

While Minerva and most of her knights have never personally encountered the Black Viper, more used to clashes with Jura Neekis and his infamous impregnable earth wall that had defended Lamia Scale countless times against Sabertooth’s firepower, it had been the Black Viper’s tactics that moved the soldiers.

“You believed him?” She asked sharply.

“There are numerous ice mages in Lamia Scale.” Rogue replied in that annoyingly bland tone. She knew him long enough to know that he’s reserving judgement until he gets more information.

“There are ice mages and there is _ice mage_.” Yukino said, raising a brow. Although not a knight or soldier, even she has heard of Black Viper’s magical prowess. “There’s only one ice mage stronger than this Black Viper and she’s the Ice Witch of Fairy Tail.”

“And the Ice Witch is retired.” Sting said.

“He has scars on his hands.” Rufus said casually, taking a dainty sip at his tea. When everyone turned to look at him, he gave them a mysterious smile. “He took his gloves off once, and I saw the scars on his hands. They are scars only obtained from a battle.”

“Many battles.” Orga grunted.

Rufus blinked in surprise. He has forgotten that the knight had been present too when Prince Lyon first took off his gloves. For such a large man with an intimidating presence, it’s difficult to remember him sometimes.

“Certainly not something a scholarly prince would possess.” Minerva scowled.

“I’m still not sure whether Prince Lyon is trustworthy enough to bring into our plans,” Rogue said, snapping his book shut with finality. “But he’s definitely not a man to be underestimated. We are missing many things here.”

Minerva sank back into the water with a sigh. The water had become lukewarm, and the foam was slowly disappearing. She raised an arm out of the water, rubbing her thumb and index finger together.

There’s less than two weeks before the wedding, her father was acting strangely, and she was dreading the arrival of Grimoire Heart later this evening.

“Minerva-sama!” Yukino yelped as dark hair still dripping with shampoo slipped out of her grip and fall into the water. She tried to pull the princess out of the water, but a loud explosion nearly threw her into the pool. The building trembled beneath her, and the water dipped and crested over the edge of the bath pool.

Minerva rose from the water instantly, the pool rippling like a mini tidal wave. She raised one arm, pulling her clothes from her pocket dimension. She grasped hold of the robe and tossed it over her shoulders. 

“What’s going on?” Sting demanded, rushing out to the balcony. He spotted the plume of black smoke immediately, rising slowly towards the sky.

“It’s coming from the west wing.” Rufus said.

Yukino sucked in a shocked breath. “But that’s... Prince Lyon’s quarters.”

Minerva didn’t even have time to swear. Without bothering to use the doors, she ran towards the balcony and leaped off the ledge.


	10. Chapter 10

Lyon’s ears were still ringing as the dust settled. His right glove had burned right off his hand, the skin blistered and dripping blood from the blowback of the explosion. He had summoned an ice shield, but only barely just in time. It had been the intense bloodlust that tipped him off, throwing himself over Chelia before his quarters went up in flames.

Chelia coughed beneath him, struggling to regain her wits from the headache pounding behind her eyes. 

“Are you alright, Chelia?” He demanded, biting back the urge to cough the dust out of his lungs. The assassin was still around; he cannot let his guard down yet.  

His quarters had been blown up in the explosion, hot flames burning in a circle around them. There’s a giant hole in the wall, and the roof was gone, exposing them to the cloudy sky. The building was crumbling in pieces, debris falling to the bottom.

“Lyon-sama!” Chelia warned.

He didn’t even pause to think, grabbing her arm to toss her aside as a magical circle lit up under their feet. He wrapped his magic around his body instantly, spikes of ice lotus flowers blooming at his feet to absorb the explosion. He allowed the momentum to throw him off, landing deftly on his feet and spinning around to block a punch.

Without thinking about the pain or the heat, he formed an ice spear in one hand, pulling the assassin close with his other hand fisted in the shirt. He felt his mind sank into battle, moving instantly with his instincts, forcing down the pain his body was feeling.

A bomb goes off in his face, and he bit back a scream of agony as he was thrown back. He smelled the sharp coppery scent of blood, its hot splash on his hand that told him that his blade had at least hit his target.

Most people tended to think that he’d be a long-range fighter with his dynamic-style magic, but truthfully, he’s deadlier up close.

He managed to protect his eyes, at least. But he could feel hot liquid trailing down his neck, and that’s. _Not good._

The ringing in his ears amplified, and he caught a glimpse of his assassin’s bared teeth and animalistic features. The assassin was saying something, rows of sharp teeth glinting as the flames threw shadows across his marked face.

He tried to stand, to get up, _something_ , but the bomb seemed to have knock something haywire in his head. When he tried to move, he stumbled and fell, nausea churning in his stomach.

The seething heat of magic curled in the air, dense and foggy, and he bit down on his tongue. The sudden sting of pain and blood blooming in his mouth was like a slap of ice down his spine. He rolled to his feet, found himself at the edge and tossed himself off, right before a ring of blasts lit up the sky and turned his whole world a blinding white.

He fell, heat bubbling across the surface of his exposed skin as the flames tried to reach for him. He tried to call out, but the smoke had burned his throat sore.

His lids fell shut, using the last of his strength and magic to expand, trusting, _trusting_ —  

Slim arms caught him around the waist, the wind buffering their rapid descent. Before they could hit the ground, the towering trees _shifted_ , winding branches, thick and ropey, formed a cushion for them to land.

“Lyon-sama, are you alright?” Chelia cried breathlessly. She hurriedly pushed back his hair, trying to find where all the blood was coming from.

The branches gently lowered the both of them to the ground.

“Lyon-sama! Chelia!” Sherry raced towards their direction. “What the hell is going on?”

“Assassin!” Chelia hissed.

The two women yelled in alarm as an explosion went off above their heads. The tree shielded over them caught on fire, flames consuming the leaves and turning the branches into ashes.

“Sherry,” Chelia stood up abruptly, her shoulders stiff with tension. “Protect Lyon-sama please.”

Sherry watched her cousin disappeared, her expression stricken. Although she wanted to run after Chelia badly, her first priority was the prince. She would only get in the younger woman’s way anyway. Out of Lyon’s attendants, Chelia was undoubtedly the strongest.

“Chelia,” Lyon gasped, trying to sit up.

Her head snapped towards him in shock. Typical Lyon; always thinking of everybody but himself.

“Stay down, Lyon-sama.” She snapped. “Chelia will be fine!”

“No!” His vehement tone took her aback. He looked utterly furious, so much that she felt the slightest trickle of apprehension. The grass beneath his body withered as the ice spread over them. His anger was _searing_ , the cold like a sharp blade scraping over her skin.

“We can’t let Chelia face him alone!” He panted. “That’s not a human at all!”

No human should be able to wield that sort of casual destruction and callous brutality, but she has a sinking dread that he had meant it literally.

“She can’t face him like this, not if she’s out for revenge right now.” He tried to explain, his breaths shuddering in his chest. His sight was failing him as his strength waned. Everything was slippery with his blood. “That... thing is not human. _Tell her, Sherry._ ”

He grasped the front of her dress, painting her clothes red with his blood. He swayed into her arms, feeling his grip on his consciousness fall away.

* * *

Chelia’s legs were trembling, her nails digging into her thighs as she bended over to catch her breath. She’s surprised that she’s still standing, facing this... this _creature_.

Whoever this man is, he’s not a normal human. Besides, what’s with those furry ears on the top of his head?

While the assassin had caught them off guard with his sudden attack, the fact that he managed to put Lyon in such a state told her not to underestimate this man. Her hatred burned in her chest as she remembered Lyon lying limply in her arms, his silver locks stained crimson with his blood. She’d _never_ forgive this man for hurting her prince.

“Oh, I really _love_ the look in your eyes!” The assassin shot her a wide, insane grin. “You really want to kill me, don’t you? I can feel your bloodlust!” His palm glowed with a familiar light that made her flinched instinctively. _“You want to kill the guy that tried to murder your prince, don’t you?”_

As the light grew bigger, she fled. The explosion behind threw her several feet in the air even as the wind coiled around her to protect her body.

“Oh, no, you’re not escaping!” The assassin yelled, reappearing in front of her.

Her eyes widened in shock. _So fast!_ She could barely even react in time as his hand shot towards her.

“I’m going to kill you right here,” a fist wrapped around her throat. “And then I’ll go after your prince, and I’ll take him apart piece by piece. But I won’t kill him immediately... I will kill all his servants one by one first before burning him to ashes.”

“You... piece of shit...” She wheezed, struggling to pry his fingers off her neck.

“The name is Jackal.” The fist tightened around her throat. She couldn’t even choke, her face drained of colour as her lips opened desperately for much needed oxygen. “Remember the name of the guy who will be sending you to Hell!”

“The only one who will be going to Hell is you.” Even dressed only in a loose, scanty silk robe, dark hair dripping with water, Minerva Orland was still a fearsome sight to behold.

As if sensing her killer intent, Jackal instinctively let go of Chelia and leaped several feet back. The most primitive part of Jackal’s brain could sense an apex predator, a monster wearing a human skin. The grin on his face stretched wider in anticipation.

“Wow, even the princess is welcoming me!” He laughed. “You’re not my target... but if you are going to get in my way, I’ll have to kill you as well...”

 _“Try.”_ Minerva said simply, releasing the immense power drowning beneath her skin.

The Twin Dragons landed deftly on their feet, flanking her side by side. Sting immediately went to Chelia, helping her up. She has never seen the blonde looked this serious before. The look in his eyes frightened her; those blue eyes were burning with intense fury. She was thankful that they weren’t directed towards her and couldn’t help but think how lucky she was that Sabertooth was on their side this time.

“This isn’t what he promised me...” Jackal frowned, glancing from Sting to Minerva. Sighing, he pressed both of his palms together.

“Princess, get away!” Chelia screamed in panic, recognizing the assassin’s action.

Sting grabbed her around the waist and dashed away without hesitation. A deafening explosion went off behind them, scorching the ground to ashes. Chelia closed her eyes immediately, but the bright flare of light still managed to blind her behind her lids.

“Chelia-san, are you alright?” Sting demanded as he gingerly put her down. He had managed to escape to a safe distance, but from his vantage point, he could see that the entire west wing was gone.

“Wait, what about the princess?” She coughed, her voice strangled by the agony that flared up around her throat. Her eyes teared up as she pressed lightly against her throbbing flesh. She tried to get up, but Sting immediately pushed her back down.

“Calm down!” He snapped. “Minerva-sama and Rogue are fine. A dumb explosion is not going to kill them that easily!”

Even as he said that, she could see the worry in his eyes. There was a flutter in her peripheral vision, and she tensed up in preparation to fight once more.

“It’s us.” Rogue said, his hair slightly singed as he limped towards them.

She relaxed, almost sobbing in relief as Minerva dropped to her knees beside her.

“I think I understand what Prince Lyon means now,” Rogue smiled, giving her an unmistakable look of respect. “When he said that he had all the protection he needs.”

In spite of the situation, she blushed.

“Hey!” Rufus called out, running over towards them. Trailing behind him was Sherry and Orga. In the knight’s arms, Lyon remained silent and still, his head lolled against his huge chest.

Chelia almost forgot about her own pain as she shot up, her vision going red as she ignored Sting’s outcry of protest.

“He’s just unconscious!” Sherry reassured before she could attack Orga in her abrupt rage. The older woman squeezed her arm as she leaned forward. “You know he’s stronger than that.”

Her rage abated slightly, but she still couldn’t shake off the light tint of red in her vision. She hasn’t seen Lyon this helpless since Jura brought him back from the battlefield two years ago. All of them had known Lyon since they were children, a motley crew of thieves, assassins and thugs given another chance at life by the second prince of Lamia Scale. Chelia had worked hard to become stronger to protect this man who had picked her and her cousin up from the streets. She had failed him once when he went to war and returned half-dead.

She’s not going to fail him twice.

“I’ll send for the healer. Orga, take him to my quarters.” Minerva said, throwing a worried look at the unconscious prince in Orga’s arms. “Rufus, cordon this entire area before the rest of the palace comes snooping.” Although it’d be a miracle if the palace hadn’t already noticed the various explosions or the missing wing. “Sting, Rogue, are you able to track down the assassin’s scent?”

“We’ll find him.” Sting said darkly.

“I’ll try to stall my father as long as possible.” She let out a hiss of breath. There’s no way she’s letting Jiemma anywhere near Lyon until she figured out _who_ sent the assassin after the second prince. Luckily, their missing assassin had a big mouth, and it’s not that difficult to figure out who’s his target.

“Chelia, Sherry,” She felt a little awkward being so stern with the two women. She has never even spoken to them before, and the next words tasted strange on her tongue. “I’m entrusting the prince to both of you.”

Chelia and Sherry looked almost offended that they needed to be told, but they only nodded and ran after Orga.

Minerva stared at the ground in front of her, an imprint of Orga’s boots on the blackened grass, the tips shining with blood. Lyon has always been languid and unhurried, reminding her a little of a snake hiding amongst the grass. She has never seen him frenzied before, and never even thought that he’s capable of it, always so cool-headed even in front of her father. He brought her a sense of calmness whenever she’s in his presence, but she has never seen him _this_ still before, like he’s already dead.

She barely even knew him, although he was her future husband. His death shouldn’t affect her much, although it would definitely jeopardize their kingdom’s relationship with Lamia Scale further, but she was used to war and she had accepted all sorts of possibilities resulting from this peace conference.

No, this worry stemmed from their shaky relationship with Lamia Scale deteriorating even further if Lyon Vastia dies on Sabertooth’s soil. Nothing more.

Lyon cannot die.

She would pry him out of the jaws of death if she has to, but Lyon Vastia cannot die no matter what.


	11. Chapter 11

He dreamed of stars falling. Thousands of them falling from the sky like arrows, leaving behind a trail of stardust in their wake. The night sky was alive; the horizon blooming white in the bright light.

There was a faceless woman standing beside him as he watched the sky. But even then, he knew. He knew who she was.

He stayed still as she reached out with one pale hand, running slender fingers through his silver hair. He closed his eyes and leaned slightly to her touch, his heart aching in his chest.

He thought he saw her smiled. Or perhaps it was the silver of the moon reflecting off her indistinct face.

 _“Mother.”_ He whispered.

He woke up with a gasp, his whole body alive with pain stinging like fire placed too close to his sensitive skin. There was a pair of hands on his shoulders, trying to hold him down.

“Prince Lyon, calm down. It’s me.” A voice said into his ear. “Breathe, Prince Lyon. Look at me. Look at me. _Lyon!_ ”

He took a deep breath and exhaled, staring up at green eyes. _Princess Minerva._ The sight of the Crown Princess did not completely calm him, especially when he could not sense his servants. It’s only sheer willpower that forced him to make his panic submit instead of acting like a clown in front of her.

“Are you calm now?” She asked.

“Let me go.” He said tightly, resisting the urge to shove her off.

It’s only when she finally let him go and he had struggled to sit up on his own, trying to ignore her sharp gaze staring silently at his person did his panic slowly receded. He’s out of breath by the time he managed to put himself in a less vulnerable position, his body stiff with pain. He could feel the familiar bind of bandages under his clothes and briefly wondered how bad his injuries are.

“I’m sorry.” He said, forgetting his formalities for a moment.

“There’s no need for an apology.” Minerva said, her expression deliberately blank. “I shouldn’t have tried to hold down a seasoned soldier. I should be more grateful that you were self-disciplined enough to not lash out at me.”

He could ask. Or he could deflect her pointed question.

Or he could just be a coward and ignored her implication.

“Where’s my attendants?” He asked.

She gave him a long look, her lips pursed with mild annoyance. Fortunately, she must have decided to take pity on his pathetic state and leave the interrogation to another day.

“I got sick of their hovering and kicked them out.” She said curtly.

He blinked at her.

“You were unconscious for three days.” She revealed. “The healer has declared you free of danger after the first night. You simply need the rest for your body to finish healing. I do not think it constructive of your attendants to continue hovering at your bedside while you were resting, so I had them sent back to their quarters for their own rest.”

“I... I thank you for that, Princess Minerva.” He said slowly, not quite sure how to react to that. He’s genuinely surprised that his friends actually _listened_.

It took another sharp throb of pain for him to remember his condition, and the situation that had led him to this point.

“What about the assassin?” He questioned.

Minerva’s expression darkened, and her pale lips—usually a bright crimson red—twisted into a disgusted sneer.

“Sting and Rogue were unable to find the assassin.” She spat. “They tracked him all the way to the West Forest outside the palace and lost his scent. It’s like the assassin had vanished out of nowhere.”

He ignored the sharp sting of disappointment and dread.

“Do you know anyone who might want you dead, Prince Lyon?” Minerva asked.

 _Do you mean,_ he thought derisively _, who does **not** want me dead? _

“My apologies,” he said quietly. “I don’t know.”

He did not point out to Minerva that right now, the biggest suspect who might actually sent an assassin after him was her own father. If she’s sharp enough, she would come to the same conclusion.

Minerva’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Very well,” she said, nodding. “I’ll leave you to your rest, Prince Lyon. I’ll continue the investigation. Rest assured that I would catch the culprit.”

It was that utter sincerity that cracked through his façade. Even he was tired of keeping his guard up around her.

“Minerva,” he said softly. She stiffened in surprise at the lack of honorific. “Once I can walk, I’m joining your investigation.” She stared at him silently, as if she does not understand his words. “I’m not that weak that I need my fiancée to protect me.”

“I... I understand.” She exhaled. “Then I wish for your speedy recovery... Lyon.”

She frowned around his name, as if it’s an unfamiliar taste. She watched his lips as he smiled genuinely at her. She’s momentarily stunned, and for a moment, thought that he’s more beautiful than anything that she has ever seen.

“I’ll take my leave now.” She said hurriedly.

She quickly left before he could reply, nearly running down Jura outside the room. She had said a hasty apology before she fled down the corridor, trying not to think of the hesitant smile directed towards her and soft dark eyes beneath silver hair.

* * *

The flush in her cheeks has finally subsided as she fled from the confines of the palace. She spied Yukino ahead with a taller silver-haired woman. At first glance, the stranger resembled Prince Lyon, with that milky complexion and pale hair, but up close, there’s no physical resemblance between the second prince and the woman at all. She chased all thoughts of Prince Lyon from her mind, deciding to focus on the present instead.

“Lady Yukino,” she greeted. “This must be the renowned esteemed elder sister, Lady Sorano.”

“Just Sorano is fine.” The other woman laughed, eyeing Minerva with intrigue and admiration. This was the first time she got to meet her sister’s mistress, the Crown Princess of Sabertooth.

“I’m grateful for your swift arrival.” Minerva said.

“How can I not come when my darling sister called for me for the first time in five years?” Sorano smirked.

Yukino blushed, pouting in embarrassment.

“How many times do I have to apologize for that?” She whined.

“Too busy shacking up with that two lover boys of yours, I see.” Sorano said snidely, although a playful smile toyed at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t call Sting and Rogue that!” Yukino spluttered.

Minerva cleared her throat politely.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Sorano grinned. “I missed teasing my younger sister. I forgot myself.”

“I’ll leave the both of you alone.” Yukino said, her demeanour shifting to reflect her noble status, all signs of mischievousness vanishing. She sank into a low bow and left them.

“I investigated the scene.” Sorano’s smile disappeared, a furrow between her brows. “Your speculations were right, Princess. The assassin is no normal human. It’s a demon summoned from the Etherious.”

Etherious, a place in between dimensions that existed in their world. Some people called it the Underworld. It’s a world where the darkness of human hearts dwelled and birthed demons like that assassin that nearly succeeded in killing Prince Lyon and his maidservant.

“Are you completely sure?” Minerva asked.

Sorano almost looked offended. “Of course, Princess. I hunt these demons for a living.”

It’s the reason why Yukino had wrote to her sister after the attempted assassination. Sorano belonged to Crime Sorciere, a group of Blood Hunters who hunt demons for a living. They were a nomadic group, never staying at one place for long, although Minerva has heard rumours of the leader being married to the Titania Knight of Fairy Tail. But rumours were just rumours, and Minerva was not inclined to believe such gossip without proof.

“Then I’ll leave the assassin in your capable hands.” She said quietly. She cannot imagine who would summon a _demon_ just to murder Prince Lyon.

Dabbling in such dark magic has unforeseen consequences.                                                 

Besides, if they had wanted subtlety, then they had summoned the wrong demon for the job. The west wing was still under heavy repairs after the attack.

She didn’t want to point fingers at anyone, but she prayed her father was not that foolish to turn to such dark arts to get rid of Prince Lyon.


End file.
